


the type of dreamer that can’t separate their head from the pillow.

by faucer



Series: villain/hero AU [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Other, Villain/hero au, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 20:34:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17773793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faucer/pseuds/faucer





	the type of dreamer that can’t separate their head from the pillow.

the air in your lungs gets sucked out. you stumble on your feet for a moment, regaining full conscience of your body by closing your hands in forceful fists. your pupils wander around, still hazy from the sudden change in setting. the scenery is a multitude of grey tones. a warm wind carries nothing but particles of dust. dead trees with crooked branches drooping down. woe fills your heart. a desolated panorama. everything here makes you nauseous, sick at the pit of your stomach. it’s not really worth the strain. you hate it. screams make your head turns abruptly to the other side. a medium, coal-colored building stands in the middle of nowhere. the only sounds echoing painfully in your ears come from there. you lift one leg towards the direction but suddenly collapse to the ground, paralyzed, unable to move even a single finger. the muddy terrain grows– no, not quite; it’s you who are sinking to the bottom, then further, further, until all you can see is pitch dark.  
in a fraction of second you get to reality again.  
he’s still choking you, wrapping tightly around your throat; knuckles probably white from the effort, though you don’t know for sure, as they are covered by black leather with rimmed red stitches “loved the view of my brain?” he grits and sneers, a tuft of chocolate hair hanging from the side of his temple, the one not scarred, for an instant he lets his hold falls loose and you have enough oxygen to speak with hoarse voice “damn, bitch, you live like this?” his thumbs press again, angrily now, leaving you no choice if not to surrender your arms to your hips and faint.  
  
you feel light, as if floating, your thoughts spinning and your lids so so heavy. ugh. that must be the after-effect of being one time too cheeky. you try to pry open your eyes, nails fumbling around where your face should be, touching the skin on your neck. gulping hurts. putting your elbows as a lever you slowly wake up, raising your body. the room is empty, obscure– mhh, no, there’s actually a light, you just need time to adjust. yes, there’s a faint glow. it comes…. from behind? you shift on the mattress placed on the floor but something prevents you to move freely. what? in a rush you toss the faded pink covers, revealing a cuff around your ankle “the fuck?” you tug, rattling it in the process, trying to at least break the chain but it’s all for naught, of course, it’s metal after all “you definitely took your time.” you sigh, knowing that tone “would have never guessed you were  _this_  kinky.” he stops typing, hinting a chuckle, but doesn’t waver from his position at the computer “it’s always this way or nothing with you.” you drop onto the pillow, yet sore from the fight you had. you furrow your forehead, is it, really? it’s always your fault? what about him, mh? about the things he’s done, about the people he’s killed, about the “here.” he says softly, sitting at the edge of the bed, handing out a white and green bowl of soup. you cast a sideways glance at his offer, analyzing him “i don’t want poison.” “it’s soup.” “poisoned soup.” “are you hungry or not.” “…. fine.” you get up again, taking the most certainly deadly meal in your palms. it’s warm. not leaving you space to continue your conversation he returns to his desk “ _yes,_  i cooked it but” he grips the headrest of his chair, swivels it a bit, takes a seat and proceeds to watch the monitor “ _no,_  you’re not going to get ill because of it.” you still have the spoon in your mouth as your expression changes into one of both annoyance and surprise “also,  **no** , i won’t stop reading your mind.” is that so? “ _ **please**_ refrain from repeating ‘fuck you’ over and over i’m trying to focus.” you smirk, eating at your own pace, distracting yourself by counting the cracks in the ruined wall, imagining shapes take forms of drawings; one a fly, one a weird looking person, another a doctor in a white coat, the last one maybe a cat. you don’t want him to understand your thoughts.  
  
you put your dish on the concrete, feeling full, somewhat sleepy again, and the headache has almost dried up “i need to pee.” “mh? there’s a bottle or something in the corner, you can reach it.” you blink twice, taking a big breath, okay, calm down, you probably misheard “are you serious.” “yeah.” “i swear i–” the door opens without a sound, no one touching it “nines, that’s not how you treat a guest.” they appear, spotless, vertical deep blue stripes over lighter cyan shades on matching shirts, brown suspenders and slightly darker pants; a nice change from their monochrome brother that too often blends in the shadows “shut up, eight.” they’re using codenames around you, figured.  
eight winks at you and with a movement of his brows you’re being lifted up. a swing of his left index and he rids you of your shackles. he mouths a ‘you’re welcome’ and while levitating he promptly carries you to the other part of the room, another door, it opens, oh it’s a bathroom!, the door closes.  
“you should adopt a different approach to [name] if you’re attempting to court them.” they whisper in synch, getting closer to the table, and he hears that another two times in their minds “ _there’s not_  any courting going on. [name]’s a hero anyway.” six gets to his right side, putting his digits on his shoulder _“and?”_ eight gets to his left side, putting his digits on his shoulder _“and?”_ he tightens his lips together, recomposing himself from the previous slip “villains and heroes don’t get along.” they exchange a peek at each other, devilishly smiling “you just have to make them a villain like us, then.” they chant in unison, snickering to his embarrassed face.


End file.
